Sleeping
by ChristopherAndMe
Summary: Sleep is usually an escape, but nightmares intrude on its peace.  Gale recieves another suprise.
1. Chapter 1

Sleep. Sometimes it's the only escape you can have. It is the motionless cycle of the night where you can recover from whatever your day brought you. But tonight was different. The relentless nightmares of Katniss blowing her brains out in front of me plague my mind. I have to scrape the dried remains of her brain off the table where she took her life in her victor house. Her now glazed over and very dried eyes look up at me. "Gale you could have helped me," she whimpers through her dead lips.

"Stop it," I feel my body tense. I know it's a dream but her eyes look so real. She sits up and her head lolls off her neck sending a fresh stream of putrid brain fluid onto the table.

"Help me," she says extending her lifeless arms out to me. I step back as she gets up from her chair and starts to walk at me. "Help me Gale."

"I can't," I cry. "I can't!" She doesn't stop.

"Help me Gale, I'm shot." Her hands rise and grab the back of my head. She leans in to my face and her lips rot off revealing yellow teeth. Her eyes begin to sink back into their sockets. She presses her teeth against my lips and I can feel her stale air rise up into my nose.

"NO! STOP IT!" I scream and push her away. She begins to laugh as her eyes fall out and her jaw unhinges. Her body begins to deteriorate and her arms and legs fall into a pile of body parts. They begin to dissolve and soon Katniss is nothing more than a pile of ashes. Her maniacal laughter echoes through the house and I shield my ears, which offers no relief. Her laughter finds my eardrums. The floor drops beneath me and I am falling. There is nothing around but a black abyss. No wind blows my hair but there is a feeling of weightlessness. My body turns over and I'm facing down. I see jagged rocks fast approaching. "I'm sorry," I whisper as my tears lift off my face and float into the air. I hit.

Gasping for air as I sit up, the beads of sweat fly off me and absorb into the bedding. The blankets are gripped in my hands and I can hear the stitches ripping. My shirt is saturated and I'm sure the sheets beneath me are soaked. I unclench my vice grip on the fabric and bend my legs up to support my arms. My head hangs between them. My breathing is long and deep and I can hear my heart pulsating in my ears. Sleep was supposed to be my escape.

As my breathing steadies, I raise my head. The light from the hallway creeps under the door and illuminates the room in a pleasant dim light. It's quiet and warm. I lean my head back and rest it against the bed post while I extend my legs out to stretch them. The covers slide down with my feet to reveal the body that was next to me during the night. I look over at him. He is turned away from me, facing the wall. His broad back expands and falls with his breaths. Peeta is still sleeping. Good. He needed the rest.

I look down at the sheets I slept on. A damp pool of sweat has formed where my body lies. The usual light gray sheets have turned into a darker shade. I place my hand in the dark color and find it is only slightly damp. It should evaporate nicely. Moving my feet off the bed, I realize they still have shoes on. The simple canvass and cotton lace snuggly wrap my feet. I untie the shoes and take them off. The cool tiled floor makes me inhale a bit as I place one un-socked foot on it. The ground soaks up my heat. I flip the shoe over to see if any dirt or debris was on the bottom. Luckily nothing was on the rubber soles. I check the sheet where my feet where to be sure. Clean. I untie the other shoe and place it next to its brother on the floor. I rub my face and clear my eyes of sleep. My stiff neck cracks as I twist it side to side. I get up.

The brown cargo pants I have been issued are wrapped around and uncomfortably compressing my legs. The white polo shirt I wear is wrinkled and sweaty. I paw around the room and find Peeta's dresser. Surely he won't mind if I borrow some clothes. I'm sure he won't even change when he wakes up. He's about my size anyway. I kneel down and open the bottom drawer. Pairs of bed sheet gray sweat pants meet my eye. They seem comfortable enough and I take a pair. I open the top drawer and see under where and socks. Woops. I shut it quickly. The drawer below it holds plain white t shirts. I take a v neck as I have always preferred the freeness of my neck. I shut the drawers and take my new wardrobe. Peeta's sleeping so I won't have to worry about changing in front of him. Not that I would care if he was awake. Growing up with limited space and a lot of family members around, you become less aware of privacy. I throw off my shirt. The air feels good on my bare skin and I rub the patches of perspiration off. I slide on the new shirt and am pleased to feel it's thin. The pants take a while to take off as they have many buttons and ties that help them stay up and on my body. Sleeping on them doesn't help with undoing the small knots around the buttons either, not exactly good sleeping attire. When I finally undo the last button in the front, they slide down my legs and rest at my ankles. Seeing Peeta's body fully exposed to my almost nakedness gives me a weird thrill. Knowing that he could wake up and see me makes me take them off my ankles even faster. I grab the gray sweat pants and decide that I don't want to wear my sweaty underwear around anymore. I quickly fling them off and feel a nice cooling sensation as the air from the room surrounds my now exposed area. I take my old shirt and dry the sweat off and throw on my new pants without bothering to put on new underwear.

Feeling my body under loose clothing makes the silent even more comfortable. I stand next to Peeta's bed and cross my arms over my chest, listening to nothing, but the sound of my and Peeta's breathing. My moments of peace are quickly swept away as I recall images of Katniss turning to ashes. Peace is over. I grab my old clothes, put them in the laundry chute, and head for the door. The sound of Peeta's heavy sigh makes me turn around just as my hand hovers around the door handle. Peeta rolled over and is now facing me. The dim light of the hallway cast dark shadows around his face, bringing out his features. His jaw is squarer then ever and his brows more prominent. Slightly mesmerized by his newer, rested looking face, I grab the door handle and twist it carefully. A beam of bright light enters the room. The lights from the hallway were brighter than I thought and I squint. As I open the door further, the beam into the room gets wider. I slide my body out into the hallway making sure not open the door too far. I stop the beam just as it's about to reach Peeta's face, and then I shut it with a small _click._

The plush red carpet of President Paylor's mansion muffles my heavy footsteps as I journey down the hall. The morning sun passes through the windows warming me each time a little more as I walk by them. I catch glimpses of the now peaceful, but ruined Capitol. The streets are bare and broken from the traps they placed for us. We advised the citizens to not walk near or by them as they still activate. They were so many around the city and it's hard to find and deactivate all of them. One will occasionally be set off and kill a couple men, or send a swarm of poison darts into the air. The traps with the mutated animals are long gone. The traps haven't been set off so we let the mutated starve and decompose underneath the streets. One less thing to clean up. The hallway comes to an end and there are two doors with brass handles. Grabbing the door handle, they swing open and I walk inside to the private dining area of the mansion. A couple plates of breakfast have been set out and I see Haymitch sitting at the end of the long table reading a notebook, drinking coffee, and munching on a piece of toast, not even bothering the smoked ham and fried eggs. My stomach growls and I realize how empty I am. Haymitch turns and sees me. "You look comfortable," he says eyeing my sweat pants. "Sleep well?"

"Yea," I say. Lying obviously, I don't feel like talking about Katniss rotting. I grab a plate and dish some eggs onto it.

"How do you feel?" he asks. He's looking at me now, his gaunt eyes staring at me. I guess the alcohol weaning is taking its course. It takes me a while to decide how I feel.

"I'm okay," I say. Safe answer, neutral. He doesn't say anything else. He's not much to talk. Having seen so many people die probably doesn't affect him like it used too. It makes you tough, hard, a little less emotional. This is probably the best he can do anyway. I don't think he could comfort anyone very well. Probably just hand you a bottle. I take a seat on the side of the table and start to eat. The food is delicious but feels like putty and paste in my mouth. I shouldn't have taken as much.

"They are starting to bring people back to their houses here," he says trying to create small talk.

"Oh," is all I say. Truth is I could care less about the pampered Capitol citizens. Killing a couple thousand of them was probably the best thing about the war. Silence filled with the sounds of forks clinking and toast chewing follows. I don't feel like talking any ways. The food lost its texture and is now tasting better. It fills my stomach with its cholesterol goodness, and I feel less empty.

"Oh, I have surprise for you, if you think you are up for it," he says not even looking up from his notebook. I stop eating and swallow the remanding food in my mouth. Oh no. I start playing images in my head of Katniss's mother shooting herself or swaying back and forth at the end of a rope.

"What is it?" I ask with some egg in my cheek, not wanting to hear who killed themselves this time. Haymith takes a sip of coffee.

"Cinna's alive."


	2. Sleeping

Sleep. Sometimes it's the only escape you can have. It is the motionless cycle of the night where you can recover from whatever your day brought you. But tonight was different. The relentless nightmares of Katniss blowing her brains out in front of me plague my mind. I have to scrape the dried remains of her brain off the table where she took her life in her victor house. Her now glazed over and very dried eyes look up at me. "Gale you could have helped me," she whimpers through her dead lips.

"Stop it," I feel my body tense. I know it's a dream but her eyes look so real. She sits up and her head lolls off her neck sending a fresh stream of putrid brain fluid onto the table.

"Help me," she says extending her lifeless arms out to me. I step back as she gets up from her chair and starts to walk at me. "Help me Gale."

"I can't," I cry. "I can't!" She doesn't stop.

"Help me Gale, I'm shot." Her hands rise and grab the back of my head. She leans in to my face and her lips rot off revealing yellow teeth. Her eyes begin to sink back into their sockets. She presses her teeth against my lips and I can feel her stale air rise up into my nose.

"NO! STOP IT!" I scream and push her away. She begins to laugh as her eyes fall out and her jaw unhinges. Her body begins to deteriorate and her arms and legs fall into a pile of body parts. They begin to dissolve and soon Katniss is nothing more than a pile of ashes. Her maniacal laughter echoes through the house and I shield my ears, which offers no relief. Her laughter finds my eardrums. The floor drops beneath me and I am falling. There is nothing around but a black abyss. No wind blows my hair but there is a feeling of weightlessness. My body turns over and I'm facing down. I see jagged rocks fast approaching. "I'm sorry," I whisper as my tears lift off my face and float into the air. I hit.

Gasping for air as I sit up, the beads of sweat fly off me and absorb into the bedding. The blankets are gripped in my hands and I can hear the stitches ripping. My shirt is saturated and I'm sure the sheets beneath me are soaked. I unclench my vice grip on the fabric and bend my legs up to support my arms. My head hangs between them. My breathing is long and deep and I can hear my heart pulsating in my ears. Sleep was supposed to be my escape.

As my breathing steadies, I raise my head. The light from the hallway creeps under the door and illuminates the room in a pleasant dim light. It's quiet and warm. I lean my head back and rest it against the bed post while I extend my legs out to stretch them. The covers slide down with my feet to reveal the body that was next to me during the night. I look over at him. He is turned away from me, facing the wall. His broad back expands and falls with his breaths. Peeta is still sleeping. Good. He needed the rest.

I look down at the sheets I slept on. A damp pool of sweat has formed where my body lies. The usual light gray sheets have turned into a darker shade. I place my hand in the dark color and find it is only slightly damp. It should evaporate nicely. Moving my feet off the bed, I realize they still have shoes on. The simple canvass and cotton lace snuggly wrap my feet. I untie the shoes and take them off. The cool tiled floor makes me inhale a bit as I place one un-socked foot on it. The ground soaks up my heat. I flip the shoe over to see if any dirt or debris was on the bottom. Luckily nothing was on the rubber soles. I check the sheet where my feet where to be sure. Clean. I untie the other shoe and place it next to its brother on the floor. I rub my face and clear my eyes of sleep. My stiff neck cracks as I twist it side to side. I get up.

The brown cargo pants I have been issued are wrapped around and uncomfortably compressing my legs. The white polo shirt I wear is wrinkled and sweaty. I paw around the room and find Peeta's dresser. Surely he won't mind if I borrow some clothes. I'm sure he won't even change when he wakes up. He's about my size anyway. I kneel down and open the bottom drawer. Pairs of bed sheet gray sweat pants meet my eye. They seem comfortable enough and I take a pair. I open the top drawer and see under where and socks. Woops. I shut it quickly. The drawer below it holds plain white t shirts. I take a v neck as I have always preferred the freeness of my neck. I shut the drawers and take my new wardrobe. Peeta's sleeping so I won't have to worry about changing in front of him. Not that I would care if he was awake. Growing up with limited space and a lot of family members around, you become less aware of privacy. I throw off my shirt. The air feels good on my bare skin and I rub the patches of perspiration off. I slide on the new shirt and am pleased to feel it's thin. The pants take a while to take off as they have many buttons and ties that help them stay up and on my body. Sleeping on them doesn't help with undoing the small knots around the buttons either, not exactly good sleeping attire. When I finally undo the last button in the front, they slide down my legs and rest at my ankles. Seeing Peeta's body fully exposed to my almost nakedness gives me a weird thrill. Knowing that he could wake up and see me makes me take them off my ankles even faster. I grab the gray sweat pants and decide that I don't want to wear my sweaty underwear around anymore. I quickly fling them off and feel a nice cooling sensation as the air from the room surrounds my now exposed area. I take my old shirt and dry the sweat off and throw on my new pants without bothering to put on new underwear.

Feeling my body under loose clothing makes the silent even more comfortable. I stand next to Peeta's bed and cross my arms over my chest, listening to nothing, but the sound of my and Peeta's breathing. My moments of peace are quickly swept away as I recall images of Katniss turning to ashes. Peace is over. I grab my old clothes, put them in the laundry chute, and head for the door. The sound of Peeta's heavy sigh makes me turn around just as my hand hovers around the door handle. Peeta rolled over and is now facing me. The dim light of the hallway cast dark shadows around his face, bringing out his features. His jaw is squarer then ever and his brows more prominent. Slightly mesmerized by his newer, rested looking face, I grab the door handle and twist it carefully. A beam of bright light enters the room. The lights from the hallway were brighter than I thought and I squint. As I open the door further, the beam into the room gets wider. I slide my body out into the hallway making sure not open the door too far. I stop the beam just as it's about to reach Peeta's face, and then I shut it with a small _click._

The plush red carpet of President Paylor's mansion muffles my heavy footsteps as I journey down the hall. The morning sun passes through the windows warming me each time a little more as I walk by them. I catch glimpses of the now peaceful, but ruined Capitol. The streets are bare and broken from the traps they placed for us. We advised the citizens to not walk near or by them as they still activate. They were so many around the city and it's hard to find and deactivate all of them. One will occasionally be set off and kill a couple men, or send a swarm of poison darts into the air. The traps with the mutated animals are long gone. The traps haven't been set off so we let the mutated starve and decompose underneath the streets. One less thing to clean up. The hallway comes to an end and there are two doors with brass handles. Grabbing the door handle, they swing open and I walk inside to the private dining area of the mansion. A couple plates of breakfast have been set out and I see Haymitch sitting at the end of the long table reading a notebook, drinking coffee, and munching on a piece of toast, not even bothering the smoked ham and fried eggs. My stomach growls and I realize how empty I am. Haymitch turns and sees me. "You look comfortable," he says eyeing my sweat pants. "Sleep well?"

"Yea," I say. Lying obviously, I don't feel like talking about Katniss rotting. I grab a plate and dish some eggs onto it.

"How do you feel?" he asks. He's looking at me now, his gaunt eyes staring at me. I guess the alcohol weaning is taking its course. It takes me a while to decide how I feel.

"I'm okay," I say. Safe answer, neutral. He doesn't say anything else. He's not much to talk. Having seen so many people die probably doesn't affect him like it used too. It makes you tough, hard, a little less emotional. This is probably the best he can do anyway. I don't think he could comfort anyone very well. Probably just hand you a bottle. I take a seat on the side of the table and start to eat. The food is delicious but feels like putty and paste in my mouth. I shouldn't have taken as much.

"They are starting to bring people back to their houses here," he says trying to create small talk.

"Oh," is all I say. Truth is I could care less about the pampered Capitol citizens. Killing a couple thousand of them was probably the best thing about the war. Silence filled with the sounds of forks clinking and toast chewing follows. I don't feel like talking any ways. The food lost its texture and is now tasting better. It fills my stomach with its cholesterol goodness, and I feel less empty.

"Oh, I have surprise for you, if you think you are up for it," he says not even looking up from his notebook. I stop eating and swallow the remanding food in my mouth. Oh no. I start playing images in my head of Katniss's mother shooting herself or swaying back and forth at the end of a rope.

"What is it?" I ask with some egg in my cheek, not wanting to hear who killed themselves this time. Haymith takes a sip of coffee.

"Cinna's alive."


End file.
